Ends of the Earth
by MaijiMary Huang
Summary: He finds the king in his room in the tower, watching the storm. (100 plus years after the end of the series, one-shot)


He finds the king in his room in the tower, watching the storm. The king must have just woken, as he is dressed only in the pants of his standard white gi. He is half sitting up, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, his pose languid, his back to the door and his gaze directed towards the window. Long white curtains billow, wraith-like, dancing with the force of the gales outside. The fabric and the light cast a mix of flickering shadows throughout the room, wandering, indecisive ghosts.

It's hardly the most ferocious tempest they've ever seen, but the display is spectacular even by Makai standards. Brilliant energy crackles in the air, raking the sky like claws and breaking it open a hundred times over.

He remembers the king commented once that he wasn't a big fan of thunderstorms. _Not scared,_ _just not a big fan. _If it had been anyone else, it would have sounded like an excuse.

He stops in the doorway and bows, even though the king doesn't like it and can't see it.

"My Lord," he says, making his presence formal. He knows the term irritates the king, but it is tolerated. He, on the other hand, prefers the proper protocol. And he'll be damned if the king gets his way all the time.

And sometimes, anyways, he's humoured for it.

"Hey," the king replies, not telling him off for the formality, not turning around, only nodding his head slightly. He must be in a contemplative mood.

He enters the king's chamber, crossing the distance to the bed. He walks around it to stand at his lord's side, facing the window. He glances down and sees the king is still watching the storm intently. His dark hair is mussed, black bangs falling into his eyes. It is a fairly short hairstyle; the king insists on it. _I feel like I don't recognize myself otherwise,_ the king said once.

He makes a mental note that it is getting a bit longer in the back again, a bit of a tail at the nape of his neck. Another trim will need to be scheduled soon.

Every few seconds the king's features are bathed in blinding light. His eyes are nearly as intense as the storm. He barely blinks, and when he does it is calm and slow, disassociated from the flashes of lightning or the rolling thunder. His face is very young.

The king _is _still very young, not even several hundred years old. He can see the scars across his lord's upper body, most from long ago when the king possessed only a fraction of the power he has today.

The most prominent of the scars are on his shoulders, one on either side. On his right, deep ridges of a sharp fanged bite, a legacy of the old king. On his left, ragged skin near the collarbone traces the path of a supernatural arrow, a mark that goes all the way through to the other side. And on the king's chest there are also a pair of small white stars, a memento of where he had once been pierced through to his very old, very human heart.

There are few new scars. Like all of the demon kings, he is near untouchable now.

Though technically none of them are kings - anymore, at least. They have not been for over a century. They are, rather, administrators of their territories. The legitimate leader of the realm, the emperor crowned every three years and recognized also by Reikai and Ningenkai, is the winner of the Unification Tournament.

But in truth, the Makai is too vast for any one person to hold absolute power. The emperor's influence and desired laws are enforced - some would say propped up - by the three most powerful kings who supported the Tournament from its earliest incarnation.

It is every winner's right to plunge the Makai back into chaos if they wish, but thus far the Tournament holds strong. Largely because most emperors to date agree with its sentiment - and likely because, if not, they would eventually have to answer to the three kings in some fashion. And as a few have discovered, waging a war is very different from a refereed one-on-one match.

In any case, three years is a blink of an eye for demons whose potential lifespans number in the thousands. It is a tantalizing, constantly dangling carrot. The agreement between the kings has provided continuity and stability conducive to a relative peace, a thing unthinkable only two centuries ago. This peace has opened doors to the human world, conversations with the spirit world, gradual migrations and blending - fulfilling the dream of a king no longer there to see it.

His old king.

"I had a dream," the king says, bringing him back to this storm and this room. He sounds as if he were just waking up.

"Yes," he replies. It is nothing more and nothing less than an acknowledgement of the statement.

They stand there, wordless, the silence punctuated only by the raging storm. It is always up to the king if he wishes to discuss something further.

He hears a shift and a creak as the king slowly sits up completely, bringing the other leg over the edge of the bed.

"Some things I haven't thought about in a long time," the king finally says.

He looks down at the king, and sees the fingers of his lord's right hand twist subtly at his side into the bedsheets, the absent-minded motion of putting out a ghost of a cigarette. It is a subconscious action that resurfaces every so often, uselessly; the king hasn't smoked in over a hundred years. His eyes, dim gold in the light, are focused on somewhere far away, lost in nostalgia.

"When I was working for Reikai ..." A faint smile crosses the king's lips. "Man, I was a dumbass back then."

He thinks of a bag full of precious stones that started it all, their echoes as they scatter to the ground in a waterfall of pebbles.

"You're still a dumbass sometimes, my Lord," he replies. "But I believe people appreciate that about you."

The king looks up at him sharply, then laughs. The laugh is quiet and amused.

"Yeah, well, give me credit for consistency," he says. "I never liked thinking."

The king's expression grows distant again. "Back then I thought I'd be dead -" he chuckles, "permanently - before I hit 20." He turns his head to look out at the storm once more, its wild light reflecting in - or perhaps simply reflecting - his eyes. "Not 200."

The king lifts one leg, bends it to rest his foot on the bed. He leans an arm against his knee and cups his chin in his palm, chews a little at his lower lip. "You know it's stupid but … the stuff around you, they seem like they'll be there forever. Like they couldn't be any other way. You don't notice 'till one day you wake up and realize, damn … so much time has gone by."

The king closes his eyes. "I can't believe all the things I'd forgotten." The storm continues to flicker across his face, across the room, enveloping them in flashes of brightness and shadow. "So many things have come and gone. So many people."

The king names no names. There is no need to; they've all been said before, once. And he remembers them.

"I will never go away," he says. The words are gentle and resolute. "Things will change, but that will not. I will accompany you to the ends of the earth."

He'd made a similar promise to the old king centuries ago. It had not been quite as dauntless. But the old king had never been human, and he never knew the old king this young.

The king lifts his head, peering up at him from under the long bangs. His arm slowly comes down to rest in his lap. His eyes are a soft amber. He doesn't blink.

A pause, and then the corner of the king's mouth curves up in a partial smile, a half-smirk. "Coming from anyone else, that would sound cheesy as hell. Or creepy."

He shrugs mildly, folds his arms behind his back. "I will consider that a compliment, my Lord," he says.

The king snorts. "Yeah, whatever. You should."

"I suppose it is a perk of serving you," he replies, dryly.

The king rolls his eyes, scratches his lower back with one hand. "Royal nag."

"No one else will remind you about your hair."

"Shut up."

The storm continues, unabated. The winds kick up, howling around the tower.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: To be perfectly honest, this exists solely because I like Hokushin a lot and there need to be more fics with Hokushin and Yusuke. I tried.<p>

Yusuke may not want to be a ruler, and clearly thinks he's too stupid to be one. But I think he'd be an amazing king/administrator not unlike Raizen. He has a lot of traits that the best people managers and visionary leaders are supposed to have - he abhors ass-kissers and complicity, is focused on achieving results over going through the motions of following a process, trusts competent people to do a good job, doesn't micromanage, and if you're one of his people facing a barrier you can be confident in the fact that he's got your back and will happily knock down walls for you. Literally lol

And behind every great leader there's a great administrative assistant. Or something.

I think Yusuke finds it comforting to have people who care about him and are constantly on his case about stuff, like Keiko, Genkai, Kuwabara.


End file.
